I’m breaking the captioning mold here and actually writing my post, untitled. I’m sure something will come to me.



I had every intention of sitting today, a free day, no less, and writing my ass off. But everything distracted me. Whiny, overtired kiddo. Reading more 50 Shades. Responding to comments. Trucks trundling up my street. The temperature thingy on my web browser bar going from 48 to 78 in under 3 hours. The sunlight dancing through my prisms (I had to get up and catch those rainbows … on my tit, on my nose, in my hand…)

Basically, today was a full-on ADD day, emphasis on “distracted”. I am rarely bothered by it, I’ve learned to cope and compensate, but today? Today I was watching clouds, and reading blogs, and looking at cocks and cunts ¬†and tits online, and not writing a damned fucking thing.

Imagine that?

And I’m not sure whether I’ll wake up tomorrow and be all hot to trot and get going writing, or if I’ll just take the weekend off. It promises to be a wild and crazy vanilla weekend, with a ton of stuff going on as far as my family goes. Some days are just like that. After this weekend, things calm down immensely, and I’m fine with that. ūüôā

I did write part one and part two of something darker (Dark Fantasies, if you are thus inclined) but other than that naughty thing, I’ve not done much else. I have been reminded to get my ass back to work on “Signed” –remember the story about the woman who signs herself away to pay off her family debts? I need to finish that, and what’s that? Summer’s starting to warm up on the farm in the Berkshire’s? OH, something¬†strange goin’ on up there.

What I just don’t have right now is focus.

You know what  nilla needs?

She needs a wicked hard beating.

No, wait. I’m not going to do this third person shit. Let’s be honest here. It’s not “she” and it’s not “her”…it’s “I”.

I need to be held down and spanked. I need to be whalloped with that fucking pink hairbrush, and the fucking silver cake thingy, and His hands.

I need to be reminded of what a sexual submissive is.

I need it.

As sofia said the other day, I crave it. It’s a need so visceral that I can almost taste the sweet juice of it in my mouth. I want that bittersweet fear/pain/hunger to consume me, to make me cry and giggle with the commingled dose of pain and pleasure my Master gives me.

I need to wear the marks of His passage across my body. I need the ache and throb of tired soreness, the swollen flesh of my labia, the thick beating within my pussy from overuse.

I need–and yet–it will be weeks yet before I get all of what I want. All of what I need.

The small doses I get of Him only serve to make me want Him more. To feel His dominance over me, when He looks at me, eyes dancing, as we do a silent war of wills across the coffee shop table, before my eyes fall with the sudden awareness  of the Beast looking back at me.


If I wrote that in a story I’d say my heroine was a desperate fuck. And that it was¬†implausible¬†to need someone that way, that much. Too¬†unbelievable¬†that an intelligent woman would want to subvert her id, desperate to assume the mantle of His will, cloaking herself with his desire, and making it hers.

Guess what?

I am a desperate fuck.

I am a desperate woman.

After 3+ years I still have the burning fire in my belly for him. OH, I’ve learned to bank that fire, to hold the coals to a slow and steady burn. It won’t go out, to be sure, but for certain? It is prone to flaring to life without a seconds warning. Suddenly that desperate flame is immolating me with the¬†want¬† of this Man. Not only a sexual want, though of course that is a component. But it’s ALL of this….all of this thing we do, when we say we are “doing D/s”.

The obedience.

The obeisance.

The need for pain.

The desire for pleasure.

All rolled into one roiling fireball that, like our sun, shoots out flares that threaten to consume me.

What is a slut to do?

*deep, slow breath*

She does what He expects her to do.

She sits, she waits. She writes, she journals this raw feeling and puts it out there for the world to see. She goes to bed, and she rises with the new day. She is a good girl.

But she is such a hungry, greedy, wanton slut.

I am such a hungry, greedy, wanton slut.

But I’ll sit.

And wait.

As He would want expects me to.